shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Tamara Madison

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Bach knits a fugue around our house
on this fine autumn morning in shades
of red, rust, earthen brown, and Corelli
fills our rooms with flowers for Vivaldi
to gild, flinging his brush and spattering gold
while Mozart outside jumps up and down
on piles of fallen leaves shouting
"Look at me! Look at me!"

They'll keep this up forever, while we
at our breakfast table amid our papers
and our pens will one day be as gone
as the toast and coffee, gone as the leaves
that gather on the lawn, gone as the wind
that plays through the trees a doleful
variation in A.